Courting the Countess of Cambridge (Secret Wallflower Society Book 2)

by Jillian Eaton

  “If you’re not going to come,” she called out, her voice lashing through the air like a whip, “kindly shut the door on your way out.”

  With an audible growl, he yanked off his overcoat and tossed it to the footman standing silently in the corner of the foyer with his eyes wide as saucers, before he followed Helena down the hall and into a large library with vaulted ceilings and mahogany shelves filled with too many books to count.

  In the middle of the room, Helena stood facing one of the windows overlooking the rear of the estate. Her gloved hands were clasped behind her back, her chin lifted high as a queen’s. Only the slightest tightening of her jaw indicated she was aware of Stephen’s presence as he stepped through the doorway.

  “You don’t seem pleased to see me,” he said, stopping behind a heavyset chair.

  “Should I be?” she asked without looking at him.

  His smile was dagger sharp. “No.”

  At that, she finally turned her head, and he found himself taken aback by the emotion swirling in the depths of her brilliant jade eyes. It almost appeared as though she was fighting back tears and his stomach twisted unpleasantly in response. Then he recalled precisely who he was dealing with, and his body stiffened.

  Helena wasn’t a helpless damsel in distress, no matter how well she played the part. She was cunning. She was conniving. But most of all, she was ruthless. Because a woman who would willingly marry a man four times her age just for the sake of his fortune was a woman who would stop at nothing to get what she wanted.

  Or to keep what she had.

  Which brought Stephen to the reason he was here.

  “Did you honestly believe all of your expenses were being paid for out of sheer generosity?” he asked, genuinely curious of the answer. He wanted to know how that clever mind of hers worked. How the gears spun and whirled. How she rationalized giving nothing and receiving everything.

  “No,” she bit out. “I knew there would be a price to pay. I just never imagined I’d be paying it to you.” The corners of her mouth pinched. “What do you want, Stephen? Besides gloating, of course. Which is a little beneath a man of your station, don’t you think?” She tapped her finger against her chin. “Then again, it is you we’re talking about.”

  Impertinent wench. Even in defeat, she refused to show any humility. And he had defeated her, whether she was ready to admit it or not. If this were a game of chess, he’d have her king pinned with nowhere to turn. But even with her back against the wall, she wasn’t ready to surrender. A trait he found both infuriating…and admirable.

  “I am not gloating,” he growled.

  “Aren’t you?” A russet brow, several shades darker than her fiery hair, arched upwards. “That is why you’ve come here, isn’t it? To rub my nose in the fact that you’re the one who has been keeping the roof over my head these past two years. And to…what?” Her head canted. “Demand I beg you on my knees for it to remain there?”

  Desire struck him like a punch to the gut as he imagined her dropping to the ground in front of him, her plump lips right at the perfect height to–

  No.

  His knuckles gleamed white as he gripped the top of the chair. He was not going to allow himself to venture down that road again. Helena was his enemy. She’d hurt him, embarrassed him, and broken his heart. Which was why he should not have been imagining her on her knees, her nails digging into his buttocks as her mouth slid eagerly over his–

  Bloody hell.

  What the devil was wrong with him?

  It’s her fault, he thought, jaw clenching as he glared at her. Helena was a goddamned temptress, and if he wasn’t careful, he was going to find himself snared in her web all over again. Except he was no longer the same naïve idiot who had fallen for a titian-haired goddess in the moonlight, and she certainly wasn’t the wide-eyed innocent she had pretended to be.

  “While the idea of you on your knees has merit, that’s not why I’m here.” Abandoning the chair, he advanced on her with the long, silent strides of a large cat.

  She held her ground but couldn’t quite hide the small flicker of alarm when he put his hands on either side of the windowsill, effectively pinning her between his body and the glass.

  “You have a debt to pay, lamb. And I’ve come to collect it.”

  Chapter Six

  Every instinct Helena possessed was screaming at her to duck under Stephen’s arm and flee as far and as fast as she could. That would be the wisest course of action. Some might say the only course of action, given the cards she held. Which was to say, no cards at all.

  If Stephen’s goal in all this had been to humiliate her, he’d done a bang-up job. Not that she would ever admit as much. But even worse than the humiliation was how he had managed to pin her a corner from which she saw no easy way out. And for that she hated him. She despised him. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting defeat.

  And she would never give up without a fight.

  “I do not owe anyone anything, least of all you.” She angled her head. “I don’t know what you are doing here or what you think to gain with this little benefactor charade, but I suggest you do us both a favor and go crawl back into whatever swamp you came out of.”

  “Oh, lamb.” Chuckling darkly, he reached out and tucked a curl behind her ear. “If I did that, who would pay for your allowance? Your rent? The clothes on your back and the food on your table?”

  “While your concern is touching,” she gritted, “what I do is none of your concern. So kindly take your money and bugger off.”

  Stephen grunted and stumbled back when she closed her hand into a fist and drove it into the middle of his stomach. Taking advantage of his temporary imbalance, she darted away from the window. But instead of running to the door, as any sane person would do, she went to the fireplace and picked up a black iron poker.

  Wielding it like a sword, she whirled to confront Stephen. “I do not see you moving.”

  “Are you bloody insane?” he asked, his incredulous gaze shifting from the poker to her face. “Put that down before you hurt yourself.”

  “Isn’t that why you came here?” Though her biceps had begun to tremble from the weight of the heavy rod, she didn’t lower it. “To hurt me? To shame me?”

  “No. All right, yes. Yes.” He jumped back when she swung the poker at him. It was only a half-hearted attempt, but she still relished the flash of surprise she saw in his eyes.

  That’s right, she thought. This time when you push me, I’m going to push back.

  In the mist and the rain at Cambridge’s estate she’d been small. She had backed away from Stephen instead of rushing forward. She had shown cowardice instead of courage. But if the last two years had taught her anything, it was that if she wanted her voice to be heard and her opinion to be known, then she needed to take up her own space. More than that, she needed to create her own space. And then she needed to defend it.

  “If you came here hoping I would kiss your feet and cry tears of gratitude,” she said with a haughty toss of her head, “then your sense of judgement is just as poor now as it was then. Unless you thought I would forget you were the one who threw me to the wolves in the first place?”

  Was that a flicker of regret she saw in his expression?

  No, she told herself.

  Surely not.

  “You were married to my father for less than a day,” he said stiffly. “What made you believe you deserved to profit off his death?”

  “I was thrown out on the street,” Helena bristled.

  “And?”

  “And I nearly starved!”

  “But you didn’t.” With bold arrogance, his gaze swept down her body.

  Helena sucked in a furious breath when he lingered on her breasts, an indolent smirk toying with the corners of his mouth before he lifted his head and met her outraged stare.

  “Did you, lamb?”

  Her grip on the poker tightened. “Don’t look at me like that.”

&nb
sp; “Like what?” he drawled even as his eyes flashed with a wicked gleam.

  “You know precisely what I mean.” As lust pooled, sticky and sweet, in her belly, Helena steeled herself against old passions and new desires. Unfortunately, physical attraction was not a hound to be called back at will. Her mind might have hated Stephen, but her body still remembered what it felt like to be touched by him. To be kissed by him. To be consumed by him.

  She bit down on the inside of her cheek.

  Hard.

  “I did wonder,” he murmured.

  “About what?” she said guardedly.

  “If I would still want you, even after everything you did.”

  “I didn’t do anything!” Even to Helena’s ears, her denial rang hollow. Not because she was guilty of marrying the earl for his money. But because she’d committed a far more egregious act. If Stephen hated her for marrying his father, what would he do if he discovered she’d murdered him?

  All things considered, she’d rather not find out.

  “You’ve overstayed your welcome, Stephen. What there was of it in the first place.” She jabbed the poker at the door. “I think it is time for you to leave.”

  “And I think it’s time for you to tell the truth for once in your bloody life!” His raised voice ricocheted off the vaulted ceiling. On a guttural snarl, he took a step towards her. She lifted her weapon and he stopped short, his chest heaving. “Goddammit, Helena. Why can’t you–” He broke off mid-sentence when a timid knock sounded at the door.

  It opened a crack, and Percy peered through.

  “Helena, I thought I heard shouting and I – oh.” The duchess gasped when she saw her friend pointing a poker at an unknown man. Her gaze darted between the two of them, fear evident in every inch of her pale countenance. Still, she bravely held her ground, and for that small, courageous feat, Helena wanted to give her a hug.

  “Should I – should I call someone?” Percy asked. “The butler, or a footman, or–”

  “There’s no need.” Helena gave Stephen a warning glare. “Lord Cambridge was just leaving. Isn’t that right?”

  His jaw clenched. “That’s right.”

  Confusion marred Percy’s brow. “Lord Cambridge? But I thought–”

  “A different one, darling.” Helena set the poker down. “Would you mind giving us a moment? I’ll be right out. I am sorry to have kept you waiting for so long.”

  “Are…are you sure?” Percy said uncertainly.

  “Positive.” She forced herself to smile. “It shan’t take more than a minute.”

  “All right.” Percy started to leave, then hesitated. “I’ll be across the way if you need me.”

  “Of course. Off with you, now.” Giving the duchess a gentle push out of the room, Helena closed the door and then leaned back against it. There was a part of her that wanted to follow behind her friend, but first, she had a dragon to vanquish. A very snarly, very angry dragon. The kind that breathed fire and had enormous wings and an even bigger–

  Tail, she told herself as heat scalded her cheeks.

  He has a very big tail.

  Good Lord. What was wrong with her? Stephen was her nemesis, not her lover. The last thing she should have been thinking about was his…tail.

  “Who was that?” he asked.

  “None of your business.” She stepped away from the door and leveled a cool, unblinking stare at him. “We’re both adults, Stephen. Surely, we can come to a mutual agreement without unnecessary theatrics or shouting.”

  “You’re the one who swung a poker at me,” he pointed out.

  She lifted her chin a notch. “A lady should always be ready to defend herself.”

  “I am not going to hurt you, Helena,” he scowled.

  Her smile was soft, and a little sad. “Haven’t you already?”

  “I…” Uttering a muffled curse, he went to a window and braced his arms on the edge of the sill, his towering frame one long, lean line of tension. “You broke your promise. Not me. If there’s hurt to be had, you’re the cause of it.”

  How could something be so completely true and so utterly false at the same time? Faced with Stephen’s back, she couldn’t help but wonder how things might have turned out differently if she’d been able to keep that promise.

  Would she and Stephen be together? Would they be married? Would they have children? As she imagined a little girl with her red hair and his blue eyes, her lips curved, and she let out of a quiet, wishful sigh just as he turned around.

  Stephen froze, and the unexpected flash of fierce possessiveness in his gaze rekindled the lust she’d been trying unsuccessfully to shove down deep. As he slowly lifted his eyes from her mouth, she saw his confusion…and his desire. That vulnerable flare of yearning called to her own sense of longing…and of loss. Of what might have been, and what could never be.

  “Stephen…?” Her fingers curled inwards, nails biting anxiously into her gloves as he continued to look at her with a mixture of anger, bewilderment, and need.

  “Helena.” He took one step towards her, then another. The room seemed to shrink around them. And even though it was impossible, she could have sworn she smelled the faintest hint of wisteria. On a sharp inhalation of breath, he closed the distance between them and brushed his knuckles against her cheek.

  “We can’t,” she whispered even as she leaned into his touch.

  “I know,” he said raggedly even as his thumb traced the outer curve of her ear.

  They gazed into each other’s eyes with both wonder and regret. Passion and pain. Love and loathing.

  Helena was so very tempted to take that final step. To stand on her toes and grab onto the lapels of his jacket and pick right up where they’d left off in the garden. As if no time had passed at all. But old injuries were not easy to forget, and old hurts were hard to forgive, and with great reluctance she shook her head.

  “We can’t,” she repeated. “It wouldn’t do either of us any good. Whatever reason you have for being my patron, I’m grateful for it.” As difficult as those words were for her to say, she meant them. Truly. Without Stephen’s support, she could only imagine where she’d be. Working as a governess, if she were lucky. On her back in a brothel if she weren’t.

  “It was wrong of me to cut you off without a penny after my father died. I was still angry with you. Furious, really.”

  “And now?” she whispered.

  “Now I don’t know how I feel, if I’m being honest.” His crooked smile tugged at something deep inside of her heart. Something she’d done her best to keep hidden, along with all the other secrets she dared not bring to the light. “But I do know I cannot be bound to you any longer. Not even in anonymity.” He searched her face. “I’ll settle a large sum in an account of your choosing, of course. Enough to keep the house in Berkley Square, if you so choose. Although I might recommend curtailing some of your…extracurricular spending.”

  “I do enjoy shopping,” she admitted.

  “I know,” he said wryly. “I’ve the mountain of notes to prove it.”

  As they shared a grin, it struck Helena how easy it was. To be with him again. To smile with him again. To share a jest with him again. But she didn’t want it to be easy. She didn’t want it at all. Not the hope, or the heartbreak. Not the love, or the loss. Because if there was another lesson that she’d learned the hard way, it was that you couldn’t have one without the other.

  Which was why she wanted neither.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, taking a step back. “I-I need time to think.”

  His brows gathered. “About what? The money? I can assure you; it is insignificant to me.”

  But am I insignificant to you?

  She backed further away. Away from Stephen. Away from her feelings. Away from questions she could never ask, for if she did, it would reveal how much she still desperately cared for him. And if she told him how she felt, how she really felt, then she’d also have to tell him what she’d done. What she’d really done.<
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  “You should leave,” she said flatly.

  “Helena–”

  “Leave,” she insisted. “Right this minute. I’ve nothing else to say to you.”

  Confusion flickered in his gaze. Then his expression hardened. “You want more, is that it?”

  “I don’t want anything from you, except for you to get out!”

  “Do you know, for a second I almost believed you’d changed.” His eyes narrowed. “But you’re still the same selfish, conniving bitch you’ve always been. Ah,” he said, a jeering smile contorting his mouth when she visibly flinched. “The truth hurts, doesn’t it, lamb?”

  “You wouldn’t know the truth if it hit you upside that inflated skull of yours!”

  As the temporary peace they’d managed to find fractured straight down the middle, Helena and Stephen squared off like two boxers preparing to step into the ring. She put her hands on her hips. He curled his into fists. She glared. He glowered. They both seethed.

  And they both hurt.

  “I’ll let myself out,” he said at last. “I’ll see you again soon.”

  “Is that a promise or a threat?” she demanded.

  “That’s for you to decide, lamb. But know this – unlike you, I always keep my promises.” He gave a mocking bow and then he was gone, leaving Helena to wonder what the devil she was supposed to do now.

  Chapter Seven

  Percy was waiting for Helena in the parlor.

  “Who was that?” she asked, her eyes as big as dinner plates.

  Helena took a deep breath. “That was my deplorable stepson. And the only man I’ve ever fancied myself in love with. I need a drink,” she decided. Crossing to the liquor cabinet on the other side of the room, she helped herself to a bottle of brandy. When she held up two glasses, Percy shook her head, and with a shrug Helena filled up both of them for herself.

  “I – I really don’t understand.” Biting her lip, Percy followed Helena over to a pair of chairs turned towards the fireplace. She perched delicately on the armrest of one while Helena threw herself into the other.